Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Oprah Winfrey on my Porch and Italian-ish Dinners

You know those stereotypes you have in your head of the big Italian style dinners? The Don at the head of the table, rows and rows of amazing cuisine before him? I can just smell the garlic, the basil, the cream sauce. My mouth waters, I bring my fingertips to my lips and kiss. Smooch!...my imagination is that good.

Every Monday night I host one of those dinners too. Except my dinners involve paper plates, easy to cook food, and Single Mama Savior, & Sassy Single Mama. Last night it was pancakes, sausage, and frozen egg rolls. Mmmm-mmmm, kind of...well it's not really about the food. It's about surviving with a little pizzazz.

I love those women. We pile our 5 kids into my tiny shotgun house (that's a skinny little house that you could shoot a shotgun through the front door and the bullet would go straight out the back) and we cook and talk and drink wine and laugh. Most importantly we love each other, and we understand each other, and we don't judge each other.

Today the Queenpin went to friggin' therapy and I have to tell you I am beginning to really hate my therapist. He was confrontational with me. He was upfront. I should have walked out and sent the goombas to deal with him, but I took it. You know why? Because I need it. He and I are gonna crack this man issue come hell or high water and I'm gonna get me a nice man that likes to cook with garlic, basil, and cream. Or may be I'll just cook with my ladies and stay single. Either way. Queenpin's gonna find some PEACE. But I have to work for it.

And work I did, so I felt like I had received a giant ass kicking after therapy. After I came home I let the beasties play upstairs, and I crawled into bed. I tried to study, I tried to distract myself with Facebook and email, but I couldn't, so I slept. When I opened my eyes I could not find the gumption to get my ass out of bed. It was really that kind of ass kicking therapy. I wanted to lay in bed with covers pulled over my head and just be. My sister used to call this poddin' because you were a like a pea in a pod. I felt like a pea in a pod, but I would have actually preferred one of those body snatcher things to come replace my ass kicked little soul with a shiny new model with no issues to work through.

I thought about (gasp) canceling Monday night dinner. I just didn't want to face my ladies all fragile and bruised. I wanted to pod damn it, but I knew the ladies would not let me get by with it. They would peel me out of the pod and make me be loved (shudder) so I got my ass up for dinner. Thank the Buddhas I got up. Thank the Buddhas for my tenacious sisters.

It is always the same. We push the kids out of the kitchen and then we take turns turning on the "Me Show" (Single Mama Savior's term). We each get to share where we are in our journeys. We laugh at each other, and with each other. Last night we got real and confronted each other, actually it was me who was confronted the most, and I can take it from my ladies. They tell it like they see it and then they love and accept me when I ignore their advice.

Out on the back porch with wine and cigarrettes we talked about ex-husbands that announced their new bi-sexual preference at a 7 year olds bday party. We talked about being in a relationship and the fear of losing freedom. I told Single Mama Savior, that I was afraid that she was gonna get too sane for me now that she's in committed relationship with super-duper fabulous guy. She told me that she was worried that now that she was in "settling down" mode Sass Mama and I would kick her to the curb. We cut our fingers and made a blood oath to love each other always. Just kidding. We just agreed to let each other change.

I told them all about therapy, I mean the dirty dark shit, and somehow we still laughed. We talked about Sass Mama's dating life, (damn she's good). We talked about lesbianism and why we never did it (I'm still really disappointed I couldn't commit). We talked about friendship. At some point I stopped and said, "Holy shit, we are having the Oprah Show right here on my porch." There was truth, reality, soul exposure, and lots of lady love. I'm so glad I got out of bed.


  1. If you need some goombas, call me.

    Also, once I recover from the psychotic break I had over cooking, I will make you some Italian food your giant table and many friends.

  2. Also, don't marry anyone who puts garlic in their cream sauce. Nutmeg, yes. Black pepper, yes.